<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>no one has asked, let alone taken, a promise of me by GStK</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824044">no one has asked, let alone taken, a promise of me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK'>GStK</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Cthulhu Mythos Fusion, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>it doesn't matter where i sleep; it doesn't matter where i sleep.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>no one has asked, let alone taken, a promise of me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/gifts">PlumTea</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stellarnova gala belongs to the outdoors. The stars venturing across the night sky, unable to find a stable orbit, swing low in honor of the Universe’s Equilibrium. The thin fog running like a river against them, the pale husks of trees standing amidst the garden like shades: the Many-Mother finds herself in these small hints of inhumanity.</p><p>The eldest of the Elder Gods know each shape of those attending the festival. For the younger abominations, it is not so easy. It is a matter of etiquette that each one of them wears a mask, that they adopt human-like facades for one fragile evening.</p><p><em> I do not see the point</em>, the Outsider tsked.</p><p>The Great Ghoul had laid a hand across his shoulders and grinned. <em> We don’t all have eyes that can perceive every dimension, Cil. </em></p><p>He’s losing himself in recollections.</p><p>The Shining One continues his survey of the temporary dimension. He sees out of two eyes and observes things that appear mortal. Some of the gods are having trouble containing their sheer power. It leaks out of them across the floor like thin rivers of blood. He follows the track of the Twin Blasphemies. Their majesty cuts a path across the tepid sand, green like acid, bubbling and corroding where it lands. It inevitably reveals the eternal darkness lying beneath.</p><p>Every turn of the dial they gather up like a murder and celebrate a pair among them. They are legion. They are legendary. They have names and souls the human tongue can’t produce and the mind can’t even understand. He’s a mirror refracted outward, the picture of the Outsider’s limited form. He’s a thousand lightning strikes wrestled down into a soft white. He’s here to honour and he’s here to catch up and he’s here, this go around, standing in for the Outsider on a favour. He feels loud and obvious, and that’s its own kind of power.</p><p>There he is, profaned by the ignorance of the three-dimensional form. His hair’s a dusting of brown like a sparrow kicked itself out of the nest. His mask is silvery, slim like the waist that’s an hourglass counting down to rebirth. His multitude of body-worshiping haloes thrum in and out of existence, a bath in the red dwarf sun.</p><p>His lips form around an <em> oh </em> and he remembers two millennia back. They’d formed on a vertical axis and floated in the cosmic bath. The fire-footed bird had come to him when he wore his own face -- not his real face, but a face that did not belong to the Outsider -- and they skipped stars across the galactic sea. No words. Supernovas were their language for that radiant afternoon.</p><p>He walks it further back. Three. The Shining One had been celebrated with the Blackness of the Stars. The Blackness hadn’t been around; that’s his modus operandi, after all. He doesn’t listen. (Long arms extend up and taper into delicate wrists wielding a bouquet of fingers. His eyes watch every move.) The point is that the Shining One and the sparrow, demoted to viscous goo whirling around in the accretion disc of a supermassive black hole, had gone dancing. No words. Just bleeding into each other as light fell away.</p><p>Four? Alala and the God of the Red Flux were honored when everyone came as a range of sound. The Great Ghoul was a deep baritone that followed you everywhere. The magnetic magma courier was a sound like a bird’s tweeting. They slotted together in the gaps of each other’s waves. No words. They made an orchestra out of impossible timbres.</p><p>Five millennia ago, they were notes on a stanza, written too close, ink blurring together until they were no longer two separate beings. Six and they were the holes in a broken heart, whistling with each breath of sorrowful air. Seven: he possessed a lion and the fire possessed a lamb, and they wound around each other in the dark cavern, sacrifice forgotten.</p><p>They have known each other for all of time. They are part of the same mythos. They are the beginning and the end, together. One is the herald. The other is the beacon. When he feels hidden eyes turn on him, he has to suppress a shiver. When the light from an approaching halo cosmic lenses around the River Abomination, he holds a hand up against his face.</p><p>His five digits are plucked from the air and held in a similarly warm and foreign hand.</p><p>“Lucifer,” says the Fiery Messenger, and it means <em> I love you so terribly</em>. The spark to sail a thousand ships and the seven trumpets of the apocalypse.</p><p>“Sandalphon,” says the Shining One, and it means <em> I would crush mountains for you. </em>The guiding lights home. The moment that came before.</p><p>Words restrained by a failing tongue; but the touch doesn’t fail.</p><p>Touch obfuscated by ten-digit nightmares; but the eyes are two for ten.</p><p>Truth silenced by dimensional blindness; but being blind doesn’t make the truth any less.</p><p>He brushes a thumb against Sandalphon’s lips and tastes the kiss offered upon the skin.</p><p>Like a bomb, they jump and erupt. They blast out into meteoritic fragments cascading over the fine mist of the gala. The Great Ghoul laughs and catches a shard of the Fiery Messenger in his hand. He crushes it.</p><p>It matters not, for they are fusing, for they are becoming gods through heavy elements and the divinity of nuclear fission.</p><p>“Sandalphon,” says the Shining One, reaching out through the electron clouds. It means <em> I do</em>.</p><p>“Lucifer,” says the Fiery Messenger, accepting his touch and crackling right on through. It means, <em> Do you love me</em>?</p><p>The question is answered before it is asked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title and summary adapted from works by Jennifer Michael Hecht.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>